


Scriberma

by rebecca_selene



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/M, Humiliation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot, Post-War, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-10
Updated: 2011-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:10:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebecca_selene/pseuds/rebecca_selene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione knows that she is a know-it-all and that she can frustrate everyone around her for it. So, to keep her ego from exploding, she turns to Malfoy for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scriberma

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 [](http://hp-kinkfest.livejournal.com/profile)[**hp_kinkfest**](http://hp-kinkfest.livejournal.com/) prompt [#153](http://community.livejournal.com/hp_kinkfest/34660.html?thread=1380452#t1380452) [( D/s where the Dominant orders the submissive to write on her skin, preferably humiliating terms)](http://community.livejournal.com/hp_kinkfest/58236.html) submitted by [](http://ratherbsailing.livejournal.com/profile)[**ratherbsailing**](http://ratherbsailing.livejournal.com/). The title is a combination of the Latin _scribere_ , “to write,” and the ancient Greek _derma_ , “skin.” I did my best to make a Rowling-sounding spell. I may have failed, but I hope the story makes up for it. :-)  
>  **Beta:** the wonderful [](http://ldymusyc.livejournal.com/profile)[**ldymusyc**](http://ldymusyc.livejournal.com/)  
> 

“Kneel.” The command came as soon as the house elf led her into the room. Hermione no longer looked around at the stone walls warily. She had long ago learned that they were not the thing that could hurt her.

She didn’t know where that man stood, but somewhere in that room was the last person she thought she would ever go to for help. He had changed after the war, certainly, but seven years of animosity didn’t just disappear overnight. And yet, after a few glasses of wine at a Malfoy Manor dinner party and a few too many arse-kissers for her liking, Hermione had found herself retreating to what she thought was an empty room and spilling her guts to Malfoy. He had listened to her complaints about the way people looked up to her and, more importantly, to her fears that she liked the attention just a little too much. And when Hermione had finally fallen silent, Malfoy had tentatively offered to show her a different sort of attention.

And that was how, months later, she found herself returning to the place of their regularly scheduled “lessons.” Shaking off her memories, Hermione strode to the center of the room and knelt down, perhaps not quite as demurely as she should have. But she was coming straight from a Ministry party in honor of a recent win for goblin rights, and pride lifted her chin just a little bit higher than usual in the cold room under Malfoy Manor.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye as Malfoy stepped from the shadows. His robes swept across the pristine floor, and he stopped in front of her, sneering.

“You’re early, Granger,” he said.

Despite herself, Hermione shivered at the memory of her previous tardy arrival. “I thought it best not to disappoint you again.”

Malfoy nodded. “Good. You’re learning.” He began to stroll around her body, beginning his motion with a casual flick of his wand that sent Hermione’s cloak flying, revealing her naked body. “You must never make someone wait on you,” he continued, as if giving a lesson to a class full of first-years. “You are not worth their time.” Suddenly she felt a sharp tug on her hair as her head was jerked back to look up at him. “Are you?” he asked forcefully, his wand pointed at her scalp.

“N-No,” Hermione gasped, the muscles in her neck aching. Malfoy released her hair abruptly, and as her upper body bounced back, she felt a pleasant tingling sensation in her nipples.

“You were at the Ministry celebration tonight?” Malfoy asked. He continued his slow circle around her, and when he came into her line of vision, he looked her in the eye and murmured a spell. A leather switch appeared in his hand, and Hermione gulped.

She forced herself to think about the question he had just asked. Malfoy knew damn well that she had been at the Ministry, because he had been there too. However, during her slight hesitation, Malfoy’s lack of patience became apparent as rope flew out of nowhere and bound her wrists tightly behind her back. She winced and nearly protested but, eyeing the switch, merely answered, “Yes.”

“What was the celebration for?”

“Goblin rights,” she said as he began to disappear from her view. She refrained from turning her head to follow his movements, knowing that he listened to every word she spoke. “I won the right for goblins to sit on the Wizengamot when their peers are on trial.”

Malfoy uttered another spell, this one loud enough for her to hear. “ _Scriberma_.” Hermione’s eyes widened in recognition. He’d only used it once before, and the lesson had stayed with her in more ways than one. “ _You_?” Malfoy asked pointedly. Hermione could well imagine that his eyebrows were raised mockingly.

“We,” she corrected herself. As she said the words, she felt letters etch themselves into her flesh. Hundreds of tiny scrawlings wrote themselves all over her body, and she felt each line as if she had taken a quill to her flesh herself. Trying to ignore the burn, her curiosity got the better of her, and she glanced at her thighs. not you not you not you. Acknowledging the reprimand, she continued, “We did. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and the Goblin Liaison Office. It was a group effort.” Although her wrists remained bound, a warm sensation trickled down her belly. Hermione sighed in delight and, relaxing, parted her knees almost subconsciously.

“And what is the feedback for such legislation?” Malfoy continued as he stepped in front of her.

“Good. The proposal went through almost immediately, with little opposition. It was a nearly perfect win.” She failed to keep the pride out of her voice.

“And are you perfect?” Malfoy asked. Hermione could no longer see him, but she felt his presence behind her. She heard him lightly tapping the switch in his hand and shivered.

“No,” she answered, “but if I try hard enough, I can be.”

She cried out when the switch landed hard across her shoulder blades and lines of letters burned as they erased and rearranged themselves over her skin. “Wrong answer,” Malfoy said. “You walked into that one on purpose, Granger. Don’t think I’m too stupid to realize it.” He came around to look her in the eye. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like being punished.”

“No!” Hermione protested, terrified he’d read the truth in her eyes. She looked down at her knees instead. imperfect imperfect imperfect. She never would have thought, before that day at Malfoy Manor months ago, that she would be tied up and kneeling in front of him, hoping for an opportunity to feel his lash. But she was, and she just had to pretend he was teaching her something, or he’d stop. And Hermione wouldn’t have that.

After studying her for a moment, Malfoy seemed to come to some decision. “What is my name?” he demanded.

“Draco Malfoy,” Hermione said instantly. The switch stung against the soft flesh of her belly, bringing tears to her eyes. “Master,” she amended. subservient subservient subservient. She flinched when the switch came down at her again, but this time it went between her thighs to rub gently at her folds. Hermione moaned as the leather brushed against her clit, but all too soon Malfoy drew the switch away.

“And what is your name?” he asked.

“Hermione Jean Granger.” She cried out as the switch struck her inner thighs, one right after the other.

“Wrong.” Malfoy was ruthless, his voice sharp and reprimanding. “Now, I’m going to ask you again. What. Is. Your. Name?”

Hermione hesitated, earning a lash across her breasts. “N-nothing,” she gasped out. “My name is nothing. I am nothing.” Her body jerked from the electricity racing across the surface of her skin.

A small pressure at the top of her head forced her face down. “Look,” Malfoy commanded. He increased the pressure of the switch on her scalp until her thighs filled her vision. The words, repeated a hundred times over, lay there bright as flame. i am nothing.

“Say it again,” her Master said.

“I am nothing.” The words sparked in time with the cadence of her voice. Tears pricked her eyes at the physical evidence of her conviction.

Malfoy was relentless, however. “And who is Harry Potter?”

“My friend,” she answered. The switch made an impact against her skull. “He’s…he’s the Saviour of the Wizarding World.” The marks on her skin heated as if to remind her of the difference between her and Harry.

“He’s the Saviour of the Entire World,” Malfoy corrected, “and much more famous, well-liked, and important than you could ever hope to be.” Tears spilled as the words washed over her. “And who is Ronald Weasley?”

“He’s an Auror,” she replied in a small voice.

“Yes. He saves lives every day by putting his own in danger.” As a reward for the correct answer, Malfoy again stroked her with the switch, until Hermione was writhing in pleasure. He pulled it away. “And do you do anything so heroic?”

“No,” she admitted softly, her heartbeat racing. “I push pencils all day.”

She could practically feel Malfoy’s sneer. He brushed the switch lightly over her breasts, sending a shiver through her body.

“What do you want?” he demanded to know.

Surprised by the sudden change in tactic, Hermione fought to gather her voice. She knew firsthand that he had little patience for delay. “I want to come,” she almost whined, looking up at him. The fire in her groin made her vision hazy; the fire on her flesh made her thoughts swirl. She was just at the edge and not above begging. “Please.”

For the first time that night, Malfoy knelt in front of her, his eyes level with hers. His expression was drawn, firm, as if he had spent the last hour in an important business meeting and not at all indicating that he had actually been humiliating his old school rival. “Please,” she repeated desperately.

“Hmm.” Malfoy made a noise of deliberation. “And you always get what you want, don’t you, Granger?” She nodded wildly, her body burning with desire. Usually, it was enough. She answered the last questions correctly, learned her lesson, and he would take pity, either sending her to a shattering climax, or releasing her and allowing her to do it herself. But this time he whispered a spell that pulled her arms lower to the ground behind her, and when she tugged, she couldn’t move them. Tied to the floor, she realized, wondering what he was about.

With a final stroke between her legs that sent molten heat through her nerves but didn’t boil her over the edge, he stood and headed for the door. A wave of his wand made the words on her body ignite in all but visible flames. He turned just before he exited, his face still stern. “You’ll be here until you’ve calmed down,” he informed her. “Hours, days, I don’t care. But you _will_ learn disappointment.” The door slammed behind him.

Hermione stared open-mouthed at the door and heard a faint but undeniable click of the lock. The fire still raced through her bloodstream, but with her hands tied to the floor behind her, she could do nothing about it. A phrase flitted through her head and landed on her tongue: _Finite Incantatem_. She had only to open her mouth and speak them, and she would be released immediately to find her pleasure. Her lips twitched but didn’t open.

If she said the words, she knew that she would be admitting defeat. Malfoy was trying to teach her a lesson, and Hermione Granger never turned away from instruction. So she bit back the spell and wordlessly screamed her frustration into the echoing room, but as she expected, no one came running to help.


End file.
